Alea Iacta Est
by CrazyAce'n'PokerFace
Summary: "The die is cast. " An É/E His Dark Materials/Daemon AU. Dedicated to penciledrevolutions & youaremyrevolution in thanks for a lovely morning, and 4horsesatetheworld & moving-on-and-nowehere-to-go in thanks for making me laugh.
1. Settling

**Author Note: Welcome to _Alea Iacta Est_, an É/E His Dark Materials/Daemon AU. This is dedicated to penciledrevolutions & youaremyrevolution in thanks for a lovely morning, and 4horsesatetheworld & moving-on-and-nowehere-to-go in thanks for making me laugh. :D **

**Disclaimer: I am not Victor Hugo. I do not own the book, the musical, or the film, and I certainly do not own the characters.**

* * *

**Chapter One: Settling**

* * *

Enjolras's daemon is one of the first in their age group to settle, right when he's halfway between eleven and twelve.

One of the other boys at their boarding school is bullying Combeferre, his daemon taking the form of a Capuchin monkey and stealing Ferre's books. Enjolras's Hypatia gets so angry at the mistreatment of their friend that she leaps from his shoulder—a sparrow not two seconds before—and hits the ground as a lioness, roaring her anger.

The other boys rear back, shocked at the display, and Enjolras feels both a burning anger and an odd sense of rightness, of _surety_, settle in his chest.

"Leave my friends alone," he says, and Hypatia growls beside him, the two of them golden, glorious, and utterly unafraid.

He never forgets the feeling.

* * *

Éponine cringes as her father screams at her.

"A cat?! Your daemon settles as a godforsaken_ cat_? What use is it going to be now? And a black cat, too—can you imagine the ill omens you've brought down on us," he shouts, tightening his fingers around her forearm.

"I'm sorry, Papa," she cries.

She's fourteen years old and she's been waiting for Sabinus to settle for months now; she thought a cat was perfect, but her father sees only the missed opportunities. The loss of changeability means jobs will be harder to pull off now, and Sabinus's form lacks the brute strength of her father's coyote and the sleek deadliness of her mother's adder to make up for it.

"A cat!" he yells again. "If I'd wanted a pet, I'd have bought one!"

Éponine's mother eventually sighs and says, "Calm down. A cat's inconspicuous enough. We can use it as a lookout, have it sneak in to case a building before we rob it—small things. Not as useful as some other things, but we can make do. We always do."

Her father relaxes, and his coyote stops growling, too. "Fine," he says, letting go of Éponine's arm. "The mangy thing can live."

Éponine scoops Sabinus up and runs out of the room, tears streaming down her face. Azelma and Gavroche try to comfort her when she settles on their little cot, but she just shakes her head and tells them that everything's fine, nothing's wrong.

She's lying, of course, but what else can she say? That she is a failure, that her daemon is pathetic, that she wishes she were somebody, anybody else besides herself?

She curls up into a tiny huddle and lets Sabinus lick her tears away, his pink tongue rough on her skin. "I love you," he whispers, softly, quietly, the words meant only for her. "I'm sorry I couldn't be different. I'm sorry I couldn't be good enough."

She wishes she had the words to tell him that it isn't his fault—it's hers, it's only hers, but she's never been very good at saying the things she means, so instead she runs her hand through his smooth black fur and tells him she's always wanted a cat.

He laughs, and she thinks that maybe this won't be so bad. Maybe it'll be okay.

* * *

Enjolras watches her sometimes, out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't think much of her, especially since she's the one always bringing notes to Marius from his sweetheart, but still—there's something about her that captures his attention.

"You_ like_ her," Hypatia says, amused.

"What? Don't be silly. I don't even know her," he replies, tearing his gaze away from the girl who clings to the corner and seems made for shadows—made _of_ shadows with her black-as-midnight hair and her dark-as-ashes eyes, and the ebony-colored daemon that rests at her side.

Hypatia flicks her tail at him, a lazy twist of movement that belies the strength contained within her sinuous body. "Admit it, you think she's pretty," she says.

"You've been spending too much time with Courfeyrac," he says huffily.

"And you've been spending too much time with your books," she retorts, baring her teeth playfully. "I think you should talk to her. Make a new friend."

"I have too many already, thank you very much. And why do you even care so much?"

Hypatia twitches an ear. "I like her."

"You've never even spoken to her," he says, incredulous. "How can you like her?"

"I don't know. I just do. Which means you must, too." And with that, she rises to her feet and stalks toward the girl, nonchalantly scattering the rest of the Les Amis before her—they know better than to stand in her way.

"Hypatia!" Enjolras hisses, but she ignores him. (She listens to no one she doesn't want to, and even he's not exempt from this rule.)

His daemon strolls right up to the girl and plops herself down at the latter's feet, casually laying her head on her paws and staring at the black cat, who seems frozen in terror two inches from her nose.

"Uh," Marius says awkwardly. His daemon, a pretty gray wolf named Luna, wags her tail uneasily beside him and looks ready to grab the cat by the scruff of his neck any second now, eyes darting between Hypatia and the smaller feline. "Hello, Hypatia. Um, this is my friend Éponine, and that's Sabinus."

At first, Hypatia gives a regal nod of acknowledgement at his clumsy words, but then shoots him a pointed glance when her side of the introduction doesn't appear to be forthcoming.

"Oh! Oh, sorry! Um, Éponine, this is Hypatia. She's Enjolras's daemon," he finally finishes.

"Pleased to meet you," Éponine says. She gives a little curtsey and manages to sweep her daemon behind her skirts as she does so.

_I know her name now_, notes a distant corner of Enjolras's mind. _It's pretty. It suits her._

The rest of him, however, pointedly ignores the interaction and his friends' intrigued whispering, and he loudly clears his throat. "Combeferre, would you mind passing me that textbook? The point of a study session is to get studying done, and at this rate we'll all fail our exams and get kicked out of the University."

This jolts everyone back into action, and they resume their own conversations and activities, giving the little vignette in the corner of the room some privacy. Marius goes back to finishing his letter, while Éponine waits patiently, and Hypatia waits along with her.

Eventually, the little black cat comes out from behind his human and shyly sits beside her, and she gives a rumble of approval that Enjolras can sense, clear across the room.

Éponine smiles at Hypatia, then looks in Enjolras's direction, just as he glances in hers, and their eyes meet for the first time.

It's only for a second, less than that even, but Enjolras feels a sense of surety, of _rightness_, that he's felt only once before.

He panics, of course, and immediately drops his eyes to the book in front of him, but his heart is pounding and his face feels flushed, and the feeling doesn't fade until Marius hands over the letter and Éponine leaves, her daemon trailing in her wake like a shadow.

In the weeks ahead, Hypatia will roll her eyes at his stubborn refusal to even talk to the girl, and he will angrily retort than no, nothing is going on, she's imagining everything.

But still, his eyes will follow Éponine like a compass pointing North, drawn inexorably to the light of her smile, and something slowly, quietly starts to change in him.

* * *

**Endnote: Thank you for reading, and please review. :)**


	2. Touched

**Author Note: Welcome to the second chapter of ****_Alea Iacta Est_****. We hope you enjoy. :)**

**Disclaimer: I am not Victor Hugo. I do not own the book, the musical, or the film, and I certainly do not own the characters.**

* * *

**Chapter Two: Touched**

* * *

"He likes you," Cosette decrees.

Éponine barely manages not to spit out her tea. "What? No!"

Tigrin, Cosette's lark daemon, lets out a trill of laughter. "Éponine, you just told us he stares at you all the time. What else could it be?"

"I—he—he could be at annoyed at my presence! Maybe he wants me banned from the meetings. I know he doesn't like it when I bring Marius your letters."

"Can he kick you out?" Tigrin queries.

"Well, probably. He _is _the de facto leader," Éponine replies.

"_Has_ he tried to kick you out?" Cosette asks.

"Well, no," she concedes.

Cosette and Tigrin look at each other, then at her. "He_ likes_ you," they say simultaneously.

Éponine covers her face with her hands and groans.

"Told you," Sabinus says smugly, and moves to lick daintily at his paw.

Éponine frowns at him. Little traitor. "Well, even if he does—ah! I'm not _saying_he does—what am I supposed to do about it?"

Cosette leans her elbow on the table and places her chin atop her crossed fingers. "Do you like him back?"

"_No_."

"Then turn him down if he does something, and ignore him if he doesn't," she says, as if it's the easiest thing in the world to do.

"I can't just ignore him! He's Enjolras!" She waves her arms around to emphasize her point.

"Whatever is that supposed to mean?" Tigrin says, amused.

"It means he's loud and outspoken, and he looks like a Greek god, and he has a daemon that's a damned _lion_, who happens to have no concept of personal space! I can't ignore him if I wanted to!"

"If you wanted to? That means you don't," Cosette points out.

"Just admit it already," Sabinus says. "You like him." He butts his head against her hand and Éponine grumpily lifts it to scratch him behind the ears.

He's so tiny still, not much bigger than he was when he first settled, growth stunted from too many years of going hungry, too many years of hardship. Still, he fits right in the crook of her arm, and Éponine wouldn't trade him for the world.

Except during moments like these, when he seems intent on ruining her life.

"Well, I think you're projecting the ridiculous crush you have on Hypatia onto me," she retorts.

He sniffs as Tigrin laughs. "It's not ridiculous. She's magnificent; I like her a lot better than that idiotic Luna."

"You love Luna," Éponine says, grinning.

"She's a great, big, hairy dog. I don't see what's to love," he replies, deadpan.

"She's a wolf," Tigrin gently corrects.

Cosette giggles. "Though she is very dog-like sometimes. I think it's adorable, though."

"You think everything about Luna and her Marius is adorable," Éponine teases, and Cosette lights up and starts speaking enthusiastically about her beau, just as Éponine wanted, and all talk of Enjolras liking her is forgotten.

For now, at least.

* * *

It's raining outside, and Enjolras is feeling slightly awkward, seeing as La Musain is suspiciously empty, leaving him and Éponine as the only occupants. He guesses it's another one of his friends' continued attempts to match-make him and the girl; no matter how ludicrous the idea is, they're convinced the two of them are a romance waiting to happen.

(It doesn't help that Hypatia is fully supportive of the endeavor; she takes great pleasure in personally annoying him. Wretched turncoat.)

So far, they've written her anonymous love letters (thankfully, she thought Marius had just forgotten to sign and address them to Cosette). They've sent her flowers (that was disastrous; it turns out she's allergic to orchids—not that he cares). They've purposefully tripped her in his vicinity so the only option was to catch her or let her fall (his hands had easily spanned her waist, and he could feel her heartbeat thudding against his palms, the memory of it burned into his fingertips).

And now, it seems they've even bribed the weather gods onto their side, because the downpour of rain is making it impossible for her to leave; she's stranded at La Musain whilst trying to deliver a letter to Marius.

"Who told you he was here?" he asks crossly.

"Monsieur Bahorel," she replies from her place in the doorway.

Hypatia snorts and whips her tail across the floor, the tawny tip of it brushing his boots.

Enjolras frowns, his suspicions confirmed. Bahorel knew full-well that Marius has been sick the past few days and confined to bed-rest at his apartment—there's no way he could have been at La Musain.

Éponine sees his displeased expression and averts her eyes, inching consciously backward. "I'll be going then, Monsieur—"

"Don't be stupid."

She snaps her gaze to his face. "Hey!" she says, anger turning her already husky voice rougher. The sound sends a shiver up his spine, which he ignores in favor of studying her flushed face and flashing eyes.

Fury looks good on her.

He shakes his head to dispel such thoughts. "Pardon me, Mademoiselle. I meant to say that there is no need for you to leave. You are welcome to stay until the rain stops." He indicates one of the plush chairs on the other side of the room.

She glances at them, glances back at him, then glances at the chairs again as if noting how far away they were.

Enjolras can feel his face warm. (He pointed them out because he thought they would be more comfortable, not because he was agitated at the thought of her sitting near him.)

Éponine deliberately walks in the opposite direction of the cushioned chairs and curls up on the little window seat, resting her head against the glass and watching the rain fall steadily down. Her daemon follows in her steps, but instead of going to rest at her feet or in her arms like he usually does, he plops himself down in between Enjolras's booted foot and Hypatia's golden body.

"Sabinus," Éponine says warningly.

"It's alright," Enjolras interrupts. "He can stay here. I don't mind. It's not as if he takes up much room, little thing that he is."

Éponine's eyes meet his, softening just a bit, and there it is—that odd jump his heart gives whenever she smiles or laughs or simply looks at him.

Enjolras doesn't like it. At all.

Hypatia gives a rumble of amusement.

Enjolras eventually looks away and goes back to writing his report; Éponine goes back to staring out the window, humming a little under her breath, and the two daemons appear to take a nap together.

Half an hour later, deep into explaining the strengths of the republic in comparison to the old monarchy, Enjolras sees a movement out of the corner of his eye. Assuming it's Hypatia, greedy for more affection, he doesn't even look up, and just automatically stretches out his hand to run it over her head.

Instead, his fingers hit smooth, ebony fur, gliding easily over the graceful arch of little Sabinus's back.

"Oh!" Éponine gasps, and her daemon yowls in surprise.

Hypatia surges to her feet, reacting to the sounds of distress, and Enjolras lifts his hand away like he's been burnt. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, please forgive me, I meant no offence—"

Éponine darts forward and grabs Sabinus from the desk, clutching him to her chest protectively, running her hand over the same spot that Enjolras had, as if trying to wipe away his touch. "How _dare_ you?" she yells.

Enjolras blanches—touching someone else's daemon without permission was one of the worst breaches of etiquette possible. He'd heard of lovers who hadn't even let their partner touch theirs, and here he was, casually laying hands on the daemon of a girl he barely knew. "I'm sorry," he says again. "I thought it was just Hypatia—I wasn't paying attention—I didn't see—"

"No, why should you see my daemon, huh? Because we're invisible to you, aren't we, bourgeois boy?" she shouts back, still angry. "It's not like you give a damn about us!"

Hypatia takes a step forward, giving a warning growl, but Enjolras drops a hand to her back to soothe her. "I apologize," he says again. "What I did was inexcusable. But I _do_ see you, and your suffering, and the suffering of those like you—you are not invisible to me. But…even if I do see you, I should have taken more care."

Sabinus finally speaks up, and Enjolras starts slightly at hearing the sound of his voice for the first time—it's rich, smooth, and surprisingly deep for his small stature. "It's alright, Ponine," he says. "It was my fault, too. I just wanted to see what he was working on—I invaded his space first." He lifts his head to look directly at Enjolras, his eyes like silver discs. "My apologies, Monsieur Enjolras. Curiosity is my besetting sin, as it is with all cats."

Éponine frowns slightly at her daemon, but Enjolras gives him a little bow. "None needed, Monsieur Sabinus. Please accept my deepest regrets at manhandling you."

The daemon chuckles. "No need. And it was hardly manhandling. It felt…nice. You have gentle hands."

Enjolras and Éponine both blush, avoiding each other's gazes at this casual admission. (This is how they miss Hypatia and Sabinus exchanging knowing looks.)

"Thank you," Enjolras says, a trifle stiffly.

"Ponine?" Sabinus says pointedly.

"Oh, fine," she says, rolling her eyes. "Apology accepted. Just—watch where you put your hands next time, alright?"

Enjolras nods, and thankfully the rain has stopped by now, so Éponine leaves without a backwards glance, Sabinus still in her arms.

"Well, that went horridly," Hypatia says dryly. "Most men would have offered them dinner first, you know?"

Enjolras groans.

* * *

**Endnote: Thank you for reading, and please review. :)**


	3. Persuasion

**Author Note: Welcome to the third chapter of ****_Alea Iacta Est_****. We hope you enjoy. :)**

**Disclaimer: I am not Victor Hugo. I do not own the book, the musical, or the film, and I certainly do not own the characters.**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Persuasion**

* * *

"Gentle hands? He has gentle hands? What was that even about?" Éponine grumbles.

Sabinus rolls his eyes. "Are you still angry about that? It's been a week since that happened!"

The two of them are on their way to La Musain to pick up a letter from Marius—she'd tried her best to avoid the place, but her friend's pleading had finally gotten her to yield.

"Well, I don't see how you're _not _more upset about it!" Éponine replies.

"He touched me for all of two seconds, and if hadn't been so surprising, I would've thought it was nice! It was a very good back rub," Sabinus says, starting to get cross.

Éponine bites back her next retort, and the two of them make their way through the streets in annoyed silence, though she's still going over The Incident, as she's taken to calling it, in her mind and trying to figure out just _why_ she can't let it go.

The thing is, it had felt…nice.

No, that's a lie—it had felt like he'd reached into her chest and stroked his fingers over her heart with gentle fingers, the touch of it tingling up her spine.

It had felt_ right_, and that's what scares her. Other people touching her daemon should feel wrong, especially when those people were arrogant boys too fearless and too passionate for their own good.

But still, but _still_, she can't forget the way his eyes had almost glowed when he'd stood there and apologized to her, how he'd nervously run his hand—the same hand that touched Sabinus—through his hair, and how her hand had itched to do the same—

Her fingernails dig deep into her palms.

No. She does not like him. She does not.

She _can't_.

Éponine is so lost in her thoughts that it takes a second for her to register Sabinus's startled cry.

"Hypatia!" he screams. He runs forward, heedless of the growls and bared teeth of the daemons belonging to the city guards milling in the square, weaving through them like a tiny wraith.

"Sabinus!" Éponine shouts, lifting her skirts and chasing after him.

He heads straight for the lioness being pulled to the ground. Hypatia roars in anger, lunging forward despite the thick ropes around her neck and paws, and she bats away the attacking daemons, trying to get to the golden-haired figure lying crumpled and half-conscious on the ground.

"Get away from him!" she howls.

"Somebody tie her down!" yells one of the officers.

"For God's sake, just knock her out!" orders another.

"No!"

Before she's even aware of what she's doing, Éponine is standing in front Hypatia, arms held out protectively. Sabinus is by her feet, hissing furiously at any daemon that tries to get near.

"Mademoiselle, please get out of the way. That daemon is dangerous," a young, harried-looking guardsman pleads.

"Of course she's dangerous—you've just hurt her human!" Éponine shouts back. "What did she ever do to you?"

The officer glances doubtfully at Hypatia's snarling mouth and bared claws. "It's more of a question of what she _will_ do, if given the chance," he answers.

The scene around them has calmed down somewhat, most people involved watching the little-showdown in tense silence. Éponine has to stifle a hysterical laugh at the picture she must make—one scrawny gamine and her even scrawnier cat facing off against several armed guards.

"You leave Hypatia alone," she orders, lifting her chin in defiance. "I'm sure Enjolras and the others have done nothing wrong—"

"They started a riot!" one of the guards says indignantly.

"_You_ started the riot!" Courfeyrac retorts. "We were just having a peaceful protest!"

Éponine turns her head in the direction of his voice, and sees that most of Les Amis have been shoved in a huddle by the door of La Musain, looking worse for the wear and sporting iron cuffs around their wrists. Marius has the beginning of a black eye, Grantaire a bloodied nose, and Bahorel has a cut on his forehead. None of them look particularly peaceful—but then neither do the guards.

A crowd is lingering on the edges of the square, predictable Paris and her people always loving a spectacle, and Éponine can see the guards eyeing them nervously. She has a moment of clarity; she can use this to her advantage.

"Let the boys go, Monsieurs," she pleads. "I'm certain they never meant to cause any trouble—I know them, please, they would only have been trying to help. With the famine and the food shortages this past winter, of course they would protest. Wouldn't you, sirs, if you'd seen the children starving in the streets?"

The people murmur in agreement, rumbles of discontent and whispers of sympathy for Les Amis building, and many turn increasingly hostile stares on the guardsmen.

Éponine holds in a sigh of relief. They're not quite out of the woods yet, but they're getting there. "On what charges are you arresting these boys?" she asks.

"Disturbing the peace," says the guard who suggested knocking out Hypatia.

Éponine turns to the crowd. "Is your peace disturbed?"

"By the stinking guards, yes!" cries out one of the members in the back.

The guards tighten their holds on their batons.

Éponine forces a light chuckle, holding out her hands. "Come now my friends, I'm certain they didn't mean to, either. This was all just a misunderstanding, wasn't it?" she prods the sensible guard.

"Perhaps," he says slowly.

"And I'm sure if you would let the boys go and bring their friend to the hospital, we can all just…sort things out. Peacefully. Let bygones be bygones," she says.

The young officer hesitates.

"Please, sirs, have mercy," Éponine pleads, falling to her knees in front of Hypatia. "These are boys not much younger than you."

The crowd lets out another murmur, and the guards exchange glances. Finally, the young officer gives a curt nod. "Fine. We'll let them go with just a warning this time."

Éponine gives a bright smile and curtseys as the crowd cheers.

Les Amis are swiftly unshackled, and Joly and Combeferre sprint to Enjolras as the officers take their leave and the crowd begins to disperse now that the threat of violence and entertainment is over.

Éponine untangles the ropes around Hypatia, and as soon as she's free, the lioness runs to her human, crouching protectively beside him.

"Gabriel," Hypatia says, anguished. She butts her head against his shoulder and he moans softly in response.

"Patia?" he says, eyelids fluttering.

"Don't move," Combeferre warns. "You might have a concussion."

"Wha' happened?" he asks.

"Stupid boy," Hypatia says. "You took a baton to the head."

"Oh. So that's what that was…" He closes his eyes and his head rolls back, and Hypatia slumps to the ground beside him, finally falling unconscious.

"Damn it," Joly says. "Now how are we supposed to move them?"

* * *

Enjolras wakes to the sensation of someone running their hand through his hair. It feels nice, so he curls further into the touch. "Mmn," he says drowsily.

The gentle fingers stop momentarily, but continue when he makes no further movements. They trail over his forehead and smooth the line of his brow, trace his cheekbones, and caress the curve of his ears.

"Silly boy," says a familiar voice. He knows it, but he can't quite remember whose it is at the moment. He'd like her to keep talking, though. She sounds beautiful. "What am I going to do with you?"

_Anything you want_, he wants to say. _Just keep touching me_. His mouth isn't cooperating with him at the moment, however, so he only moans slightly.

The woman sighs. "I doubt you'll remember this, or even care if you do, but…"

He hears the rustling of clothes, feels a lock of hair brush against his face, and registers the warmth of a soft pair of lips pressed to his temple.

"Take care of yourself," the woman whispers.

"Still think you don't like him?" asks an amused voice.

"Shut up, Sabinus," she snaps. "This is your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yes, your fault. If you hadn't—"

A door slams somewhere in the distance, and the woman and her companion stop speaking.

"Damn it, we've got to go," she mutters, and her hand finally leaves his hair.

Enjolras thinks he hears the creak of a window unfastening, and opens his eyes just in time to see a dark-haired figure climb out of it into the night, followed shortly by a little shadow of a cat.

When he asks his nurse the next morning if he had any visitors, however, he is told no one besides his friends came, and certainly no one after visiting hours.

He figures it was just a dream, and Hypatia doesn't bother to tell him any differently.

* * *

**Endnote: Thank you for reading. We hope you enjoyed it. Please review. :)**


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